


Day to Day Sort of Love

by awkwardeye



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble Collection, F/M, POV First Person, Romance, Slice of Life, Writing prompt challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-06-04 23:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 4,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6680410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardeye/pseuds/awkwardeye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles based off of prompts that I found  on deviant art</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love

The thing with love is that one can never say whether or not the person they love loves them back, matching their intensity or passion or whatever it is that fuels their love. It’s one of the constant anxieties of being in a romantic relationship, this world in which a living, breathing human being has thoughts existing outside of one’s own that only they control. Of course, I wonder what he’s thinking when he looks at me, donning the usual impassive expression.  _ Does he want to kiss me or yell at me?  _ It’s a strangely common thought with him, with Levi.

People like Levi are hard to read in moments like these. What  _ are _ moments like these? Moments in which one brushes against another and a sudden realization hits them with enough force to knock the wind from their lungs and leave them wheezing (metaphorically, of course) as they struggle feebly to gather whatever thoughts they’d been thinking before the realization hit. And what, pray tell,  _ is _ the realization?  _ Love _ . That four letter word with its sharp  _ L  _ and curving  _ O _ . And all it takes is the small amount of contact from his shoulder against mine to send my mind reeling with the notion that I love him and, in turn, he must love me.

“Levi,” I murmur, leaning against the counter and watching him sip his tea, fingers gripping the rim rather than the handle. He doesn’t respond immediately, and I never expect him to. He’s one of those people who prefers a moment to consider before responding to what may very well be another useless inquiry. I wait patiently and drum my fingers against the countertop until he grunts for me to continue. “Do you love me?” I ask, without missing a beat. It’s important not to with Levi when talking about such matters. He likes love talks served never and most definitely cannot and will not stay on the topic for more than a few questions or moments depending on his mood.

He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, eyes flitting from his tea to me. In the silver hues of his eyes, a storm rouses itself from a peaceful slumber and contemplates for a moment or two. His eyebrows furrow, the skin between them puckering. Finally, he bows his head and sighs again. “You know I love you,” he mutters. And the conversation is over with just those words. Or so he thinks.

“I love you, Levi.”

“Christ, woman! Can I drink my tea in peace?”


	2. Truth be Told

Levi catches the gust of cold air when the door closes unbearably slowly behind him. Muttering to himself, he pulls his gloves off and heads straight for an empty table off in the corner and away from the other patrons.

I rub my hands together and fight a grin when he pretends to read the menu, as if he doesn’t know it by heart by now. I know his order already, but I wait for him to lay down the menu and gaze absently out of the window like he always does before I make a move to so much as approach his table. My steps are light as I meander through the afternoon crowd of teens fresh out of classes and ready to do whatever it is they’ve come to do. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my coworker nudge someone and chuckle. With only a table between us, I’m prepared when Levi rolls his eyes.

“Four minutes, I’ve been staring at these stupid people living their stupid lives. Why is it that you always make me wait?” He waves his hand dismissively before I can respond and rests his chin in his palm. For a moment, his eyes soften and the soft murmur of conversation and slow music combined with the look in his eyes pulls me into a reverie. Making eyes at each other like this never fails to make my heart skip a beat. I always want to lay my hand over his heart to see if his does the same. “You know what I want, huh?”

“Yeah, the usual,” I reply, tearing my eyes from his.

“No.”

“No?”

“Truth be told, I want you to sit here with me for a little while,” he admits, hanging his head to hide the blush that colors his cheeks rouge.


	3. Wait, What?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is really stupid

“It’s important to know the language overseas.” Levi pores over a foreign language textbook.

“Yes, but you’re terrible with languages,” I counter, tangling my fingers in his hair. He bats my hands away and shakes his head.

“I am  _ not _ ,” he snaps.

“The only word you learned in French was  _ merde _ and after that you couldn’t be bothered,” I reply, giggling. I lean over him to study the pages of his book. Pressing my body against his, I can feel the heat radiate off of his skin and smell my shampoo in his hair. He always uses my shampoo when I forget it at his apartment. Skimming the page written nearly entirely in English, I gather that he’s learning how to conjugate irregular verbs. “Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, you would know these things if you’d paid attention in school,” I say, wagging a finger beside his ear.

Levi shrugs his shoulders, effectively shaking me off before I can irritate him any further. “You should be a bit more helpful since you know so much more than me,” he huffs. He heaves a great big sigh and glances at his watch. “Why don’t you teach me instead of running your mouth. You talk a mile a minute, but have nothing to say, you know.” He frowns and returns to his book.

“I’ll help you,” I say, flopping down onto the floor beside his chair.

“Alright.” He pauses and flips through the book. “How do you say ‘My girlfriend is an annoying brat’?”

“You really wanna know?” I tease, chuckling. I rest a hand on his thigh and stare up at him.

“Yeah,  _ sure _ ,” he mutters, waving his hand.

“ _ Je t’aime _ .”

“Ta gueule!”

“Wait, what? I thought you didn’t speak French!”


	4. Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's a lil mushy

I want ice cream sundaes and french vanilla lattes. Pans of brownies and lemonade on hot days. Tea, but only from his mug when he’s drinking it and his shirts the moment I see where they landed on the floor. Lots of hugs and movie marathons, too. Concert tickets and kisses. I want silly things, most of the time.

But right now, I want nothing more than to know that he’ll come home safe. As handsome as he looks in his uniform, I can’t stand the sight of it when he stands in the doorway, so ready to leave without the promise of his return. Maybe it’s for the good of the country, but what good is it for me? Who will remind me to lock the door at night after a long day of work and school? Who will hold me on the nights when I want nothing more than to be held? Who will kiss me goodnight?

“Don’t forget to lace your boots,” I say, forcing a grin. Rubbing the back of my neck, I lower my gaze. “Be careful out there.” I can’t meet his gaze when I reach out to adjust his collar. “Don’t forget to call me.” I press my lips to Levi’s cheek and wrap my arms around him.

His arms tighten around me and we hug each other so tightly we can’t breathe, as if we can’t get close enough to each other. When we pull away, reluctant and clinging, he grasps my hand and kisses my palm, his lips smooth against my clammy skin. Smiling sadly, he cups my chin and tips my head until I meet his eyes, warmer than they’ll be for a while and filled with a tenderness so warm and soft words can do it no justice. “I won’t forget; you’re the one who always forgets to do things. Don’t forget about me.”

I want earrings and necklaces. Dresses with the kind of skirts that are far too fluffy and boots. A puppy and the latest book from my favorite author. Socks without holes in them and gum, only when he pulls out a pack and I suddenly remember that I want a piece. Long eyelashes and a pretty smile. I want silly things most of the time, but right now I want nothing more than for him to stay.


	5. Name

There’s a rush that comes with his name, a fleeting fluttering of butterfly wings against my heart. 

_ Levi _ .  _ So that’s his name _ . I catch his name on his I.D. when he flips open his wallet to pay for his drink. Scan his finger for a ring and exhale in relief when his hand is bare. He hands his money to me and, in the mix of pristine bills, our fingers brush against each other and, somehow, knowing his name feels more intimate than it probably is. I don’t recoil and neither does he, but, rather, we allow our fingers to linger a moment.

For a while now, I’ve been content with taking his order and watching him drink his tea and read his book or mess around with his phone. Watching without speaking I can take because he’s handsome. I’m fine remaining in this way, watching him watch something else without ever exchanging more than the usual words. The aching yearning to be near him calms itself with his fingers against mine for a matter of seconds.

His hand hangs in the air after I’ve taken his money and I realize, with a bit of a start, that he said something to me. His ears are red and he avoids my eyes, like a nervous child, when I shoot him a confused look. Gesturing to my nametag, he repeats himself, “That’s a pretty name.”


	6. Date

Levi holds my hand gently, as if he’s afraid he might scare me away if he puts any more pressure into his grip. It’s been a long while since his last  date, so he’s a little rusty. That’s what he said when he arrived for dinner, terribly handsome in his suit. Since then he’s lost his jacket and loosened his tie, unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt.

In the darkness of the theater, the only light coming from the huge screen sending blue shadows dancing over his features, Levi watches me pretend to watch a foreign film. It’s in Spanish, the kind of Spanish spoken with a thick motherland sort of accent that one appreciates. Subtitles in bold yellow font flash across the screen slowly, rolling like credits. Idly, Levi traces circles over the back of my hand with his thumb. In the middle of the nearly empty showing, we’re almost alone and free from the watchful eyes of outsiders.

Never would I have imagined myself holding hands with the object of my infatuation in a dark theater, watching a foreign film for the sake of watching one. We don’t really watch the film, but we appreciate the clips that we catch between long moments of admiring each other.


	7. Age

Levi’s the kind of person who gets better with age. It’s the wildest thing, seeing him one day and thinking he’s perfect and then seeing him the same way a few months later and thinking somehow he’s become even more perfect. When I mention it, though, he says,

“You won’t think that when we’re old and wrinkly and you wake up next to me instead of some young hunk, you know. And I’m far from perfect, anyway. I’m just getting worse with age.”

He has no clue that I stopped listening after the first sentence, already preoccupied by the notion that we’ll grow old  _ together _ .


	8. Jealousy

Dreamy eyes, thick brown hair, lean muscle stretching wondrously beneath tan skin graciously uncovered. Four letters. E-R-E-N. It’s an innocent sort of attraction, like the kind people have for the latest model to grace the cover of a fashion magazine. It’s a fleeting sort of thing, too. It’s all held in fractions of seconds when he opens the door shirtless and tells me that I can wait if I like, flashing that boyish grin of his. Of course I don’t  _ like _ him, but it doesn’t hurt to acknowledge he’s handsome.

Levi shoves his way through the front door, pushing Eren aside before I can so much as consider taking him up on his offer. “Were you just giving him sex eyes?” he demands, his feet not even fully settled on the welcome mat before his eyes are burning into me and searching for the slightest hint of interest toward his roommate.

“He’s handsome, Levi, but he’s not you,” I say, smiling. And it’s true.

“You’re full of shit.”

“And you’re jealous,” I tease, taking his hand when he offers it.

“Yeah, well, I’m not going to let some punk brat steal you.”

“You know, Levi, I get jealous, too.” And who wouldn’t with a fine specimen such as himself for a lover?


	9. Anger

It’s the kind of anger that makes a person see red. It grips me with such tight fingers I can’t breathe, can hardly move. Tears spill over my eyelids, frustrating me further when he seems to take them for weakness, like I’m yielding, like I can’t meet him blow for blow. I hate him more than I have since we started dating. He’s so  _ damn _ calm and me, I lose my composure too quickly, too easily!

Levi presses his hand against the back of my neck, using the other to wipe my tears carefully, lovingly. He’s whispering something, some circular apology that doesn’t at all address the issue at hand, but sounds nice enough to fall back into like a bed of warm blankets.

I toss my arms up and bat his hands away, slipping away from him. _ I can wipe my own tears, dammit _ , I want to yell, but I don’t because I  _ want _ him to do it in the haze of this anger. He can knock me down as many times as he wants as long as he picks me back up. But how’s he going to do that if he’s overseas all the time with his heart tangled in war?

“I have to do this,” Levi says, staring straight into my eyes. “It’s my only choice and I- I’ll…” He trails off, averts his gaze. “Look, we’ve only been at this for a few months. You don’t have to tie yourself down or anything if you-!”

“This isn’t fair! You’re being sent to your death and you’re acting like it’s nothing!” I yell.

“You don’t have to worry about me!” Levi growls, finally allowing his cool facade to slip.

“I love you too damn much to pretend it doesn’t bother me, you jerk!” This is it. The first time I tell him I love him comes with the news of a draft. It was supposed to be romantic and sweet, not yelled at him with too much venom in my voice to swallow. I drag my hand across my face, wiping away more tears as they fall.

“I love you, too.” His voice is soft now, a bittersweet note clinging to his words. “That’s why I’ll come back to you.”


	10. Mine

Let his fingers intertwine with mine, cold and loose in his early morning daze. His eyes haven’t opened yet as he presses his lips to the skin of my stomach, exposed by the rising of my shirt. The fingers of his free hand splay across my thigh and he murmurs something to himself.

Eyelashes fluttering, his eyes open to world and reveal two beautiful orbs to rival the moon, floating in the darkness of dawn. I shiver because he stole the covers when he decided to fall asleep lying across me so that we form a  _ t _ . His feet hang off of the bed, but he can’t be bothered to reposition himself and I can’t be bothered to tell him to move so we lay here in silence, slightly uncomfortable, but content.

When he twists suddenly, I curve to accommodate the awkward movement of his limbs. His lips taste faintly of his toothpaste, minty and stinging pleasantly. I feel his lips twist into a smile against mine. Pulling away as he opens his eyes again and takes a moment to appreciate the sight of me, his lips cling to his smile.

“I’m so lucky to call you mine.”


	11. Our

His tea. His worn copy of  _ A Tale of Two Cities _ . His drawer of ties and socks and underwear. His bottle of cologne sitting on the dresser. His dress shirts hanging in the closet. His razor and shaving cream behind the mirror. His shoes placed neatly beside the front door.

Levi heaves a sigh and runs his fingers through his hair. “You look overwhelmed,” he says, his frown deepening. Suddenly, as if remembering something for the first time in a long time, he turns his head toward the window and then his body. “It’s too stuffy in here,” he mutters. Flinging his shirt from his body and unlocks the window, trails of sweat dip and run along the contours of his form, making his hair stick to his forehead and his skin sticky.

My favorite comforter. My collection of shoes shoved haphazardly beneath the bed. My cosmetics strewn across the sink in the bathroom. My robe hanging off the back of my chair. My bookshelf, half full with the other side reserved for company.

“Don’t bother,” I say, but it’s too late. I watch Levi attempt to wrench open the window to no avail. “It’s been painted over since I moved in,” I explain, eyes drifting back to the box in front of me. Running my fingers along the spines of his books, I wonder when I’ll get the chance to read them all. The idea fills me to the brim with a warm, bubbling sort of happiness. My eyes covering the same words his have before them, knowing the same stories he already knows.

“You are literally no help,” he sighs, crossing the room before I can respond. He grabs a few books and tosses them onto the shelves, somehow managing to make them settle neatly beside each other. “We’ll have to clean soon.” He drags his finger along the top of the bookshelf, wrinkling his nose when he sees his dusty fingertip. “I can’t believe I’m moving in with a slob.”

_Our_ books beside each other on _our_ bookshelf in _our_ apartment.


	12. Heartbeat

Levi always touches my neck, wrist, or back when he tells me something important. 

At first, I didn’t notice or think anything of his behavior. And, when I did notice, I didn’t care enough about it to consider it as odd or weird or anything other than his way of being affectionate and I gladly accepted it  because Levi, since I’ve met, I’ve only known to be cold and awkward about physical intimacy outside of, well, doing  _ it _ .

But a little while ago, I realized that he only ever does it before he passes on some information he deems important. He held my hand and then my wrist when he asked if I wanted to meet his friends. He laid two fingers against my neck when he mentioned moving in together for the first time. He laid his ear against my back when he asked me what I thought of him the first time he slept in my bed.

Right now, he has his fingers against my neck, brushing my jaw, as he asks what I think of him constantly leaving and coming back. His eyes are piercing, his face inscrutable.

“I get lonely,” I admit, my heart beating quickly at the thought of him leaving again. “Are you going?” He always delivers the news in a casual setting, touching my neck, wrist, or back as if the setting will help soften the blow. It never does. “I’m always afraid that you won’t come back.”

“And you’re afraid now,” he replies.

I nod and touch his hand. “Why do you do that?” I ask, pulling his fingers away from my neck.

“Your pulse. I can tell what you’re feeling when I touch you,” he says, as if this is a fact I should already know. “I always know when your heart races for me. Your pulse quickens with your heartbeat.”


	13. Breathe

His eyelashes shield his eyes, cast down to the pages of his book. His nose wrinkles at whatever he’s reading and his lips pull back into a scowl, the lines around his mouth deepening with his expression. He hunches over, his hair falling across his forehead, strands nearly too long for his tastes.

I exhale heavily, bored of watching him do next to nothing but breathe for the past few minutes. I grin when he heaves a sigh of his own, exasperated without reason. Watching his chest rise and fall with the movement of his diaphram, I can’t help but notice how slowly he breathes. Envious of the leisurely pace of his breath, I attempt to relax and mirror the movements of his chest with my own.

“What are you doing now?” Levi murmurs, without sparing me a glance.

“Trying to breathe with you,” I answer. If he’s listening, he doesn’t care and I don’t mind.

“Come here,” he says, shutting his book and leaning back comfortably. He motions toward his lap when I scoot closer to him and I settle there without any protest. Maneuvering his arm around me, he rests one hand on my torso, fingers sprawling from the bottoms of my breasts to the waistband of my jeans. The other hand, he holds out, fingers curled into a fist.

“What are we doing?”

“When I open my hand, exhale. Inhale when I make a fist.”

Following his instructions, I can focus only on his hand’s movements, vaguely aware of the weight of his hand on my front measuring my breaths and the warmth of his breath against my neck. His movements are slow, unrushed as if he has any reason to not rush. When I close my eyes, settled into his pattern, I feel his chest rise against my back, lungs filling in time to mine. For a few moments, we’re completely in sync until I whisper, “Isn’t this  _ romantic _ ?”

“Get  _ off _ .”


	14. Speed

“What was that?”

“What was _what_?”

“ _Levi_!”

“What?!” He tosses his hands up and sucks his teeth, like some sort of irritated teen who _almost_ got away without being accosted by their parents. Straightening his tie, he shakes his head and mutters something under his breath about lateness and troublesome people.

“It only took you four minutes to shower and get dressed,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

“ _Yeah_?” He stares at me like I’m stupid.

“There’s no way you’re clean.”

“I promise you that I’m clean,” Levi snaps. Thinking better, his tone softens and he smirks at me. “You think we have time for long showers overseas? A person learns to be as efficient as they are quick, kid. Speed is key.” He rushes out of the door before I can protest, leaving me standing in the middle of his apartment, slightly confused and mildly amazed.

He forgot his keys.


	15. Slow

Levi walks quickly. He talks quickly. He eats quickly. He hardly sleeps, but, when he does, he sleeps quickly. He cleans quickly. He kisses quickly. The only things he doesn’t do quickly are make and drink his tea.

“I want some,” I say, when I catch him in the kitchen late at night.

“You won’t like it,” he says, pouring himself a cup of tea.

“How do you know that?”

Levi sighs and gestures for me to come forward. Scowling, he offers me his cup and mutters, “I know because you’re you and you always complain about the things I like.” He snatches his cup back when I reach for it and shakes his head. “No, you’re too eager. You have to take your time with it or it won’t be the same,” he says.

“It’s just tea, Levi,” I mutter, reaching for the cup.

“ _ Just _ tea? This isn’t sex; this isn’t some stupid thing. I respect my tea. It calms me.” He watches me raise the cup to my lips, his hands on my wrists to keep me from gulping it down. “Take it slow, dammit,” he mutters. “You have to savor it.”

“It’s bitter, Levi.”

“Drink it slower.”

“It’s still bitter, Levi”

“I said you wouldn’t like it.”


	16. touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lying in bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is very very very very short, like levi ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Skin presses against skin, all soft and hot and wanting to be touched. I thread my fingers through his hair and sigh. It’s another one of  _ those _ nights when he won’t sleep while I fade in and out of consciousness, growing more guilty each time I open my eyes and see the circles beneath his. But we’re fine, as long as we’re close enough to touch.

Levi lays beside me. Silent as ever, he watches the shadows on the wall as if they might have the answers to the questions in his head. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and frowns. Perhaps, he’s the most worried man in the world. He has reason to be. But his limbs loosen with the heaviness of my breath until he can’t summon the will to even consider moving.

His skin burns beneath my touch and I want nothing more than to steal his pain from him and toss it away.


	17. life

Life with Levi is a mess of organization. If his socks are here, then my socks must be there, but I never know where. If he’s studying or reading, the television is on, volume lowered to where I can hear it only if we’re completely silent. When I leave my clothes on a chair, he complains. But if he leaves his on the chair, it’s all about the method to his madness (which he will lecture me about with an oddly intense passion).

“I’ve told you a thousand times and you’ve listened once.  _ This  _ is for wood,  _ this  _ is for the windows,  _ these  _ are for wiping down screens and stands,  _ this  _ is for the mirror,” Levi says, without showing any sign of slowing down now. He holds up various bottles and sprays and points to different towels and sponges.

“I’m not going to remember all of that,” I cut in.

“Life with you is just a glorified  _ mess _ !”


	18. flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do I hate? this

There’s a small shop that sells flowers down the block and Levi slows down to look at the display whenever we pass it even though he knows next to nothing about flowers. Today, he slows down and simply stands, staring at an arrangement.

“That’s lavender, right?”

I follow his gaze and nod.

“My mother’s funeral was filled with the smell. I think it was meant to cover the smell of death, but it was so overwhelming that it brought more attention to what it was covering,” he says, the words falling from his lips in mechanic waves. His eyes are blank for a moment and he shakes his head saying, “I’ve never really liked flowers."


	19. soul

“Do you believe in souls, Levi?”

We’re sitting on the couch, close enough to feel that we’re doing something together, but far apart enough to not be uncomfortable in the heat. Our clothes stick to our skin and Levi has created a schedule to ensure that we don’t sweat all over the couch. We’ve been showering at regular intervals.

The curtains are drawn, but there’s still enough light in the room to make out the outlines of Levi and various pieces of furniture. Two fans whir loudly enough to be irritating, but I gladly accept the air propelled my way with enough force to manipulate the fabric of my shirt. Otherwise, the apartment is silent because Levi unplugged everything but the fans.

“Souls? Like something inside of us that makes every individual solely themself? That bit of us that remains long after our bodies decay, right? It’s a comforting belief especially when we consider soulmates, these bits of ourselves naturally attracting others. It depends on the situation.”

“You believe in souls in certain situations?”

“There are no atheists in foxholes.”

 


	20. heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops looks like i stopped updating randomly because i didn't know what to do with this prompt and i didn't want to skip it. it's a horrid excuse, but it's the truth

I think the closest I’ll ever come to Heaven or anything like it is in this moment not unlike the others before it.

Levi kisses me like the world is ending. He kisses me like he’s a prisoner on death row and this moment is the one he wants to remember as he swallows his last breath. The scent of his cologne and aftershave mixes with the scent of alcohol and his lips are sweet, his tongue bitter, but I want to stay this way.

The couch is small and isn’t meant for this and soon we’re rolling to the ground tangled up in each other with ceaseless lips. He pulls away to press short, open mouthed kisses along my jaw, his fingers absently caressing the nape of my neck. Levi murmurs something against my skin. And then he kisses me again.

This is arguably the best part of the small amounts of time I get with him: the reunion. We’re making up for lost time and there’s no such thing as taking things too fast or too slow.


End file.
